Tears
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: This is the last thing you want anyone to see...much less talk about.


A/N: This is what I get for analyzing Manhunt too closely and then thinking about what might've led up to Fin coming into SVU and partnering off with Munch and all that stuff, so there you have it. And I'm happy because this is the eleventh prompt I've finished! And SVU's not mine.

* * *

It feels like you're falling. You can hardly believe this is happening to you, but it is, and there's nothing you can do about it. So you stand there, staring in stunned disbelief at the one who's just given you the news. Your partner is dead. And you're still standing. A feeling of guilt wells up inside of you. The bullets she took were meant for you, and you know it. You should be the on the way to the morgue. But you're not. You're standing in the captain's office, shaking your head, unwilling to believe what you've been told. Three other detectives stand with you. They're wearing the same expression that you are, but somehow, you know this news doesn't mean as much to them as it does to you. After all, the both of you hadn't planned on telling the squad until the assignment was over. Until you'd both made it out alive.

The ring is on her desk. You see it when you sit at yours, and it's all you can do to keep from picking it up and throwing it, to someplace where you'll never see it again. A picture frame catches your eye, and you pick it up, staring at the faces that stare back at you. One of them is your own. Another is hers. The rest belong to the other members of the squad. You can't remember where you are, but you're smiling and so is she, so you figure that it must be someplace good. The door to the captain's office closes, and the other three come back into the squad room. None of them say anything to you. They seem to know that you want to be left alone.

After a while, the silence starts to grate on your nerves. So you get up, you pull on a jacket and you leave the squad room. You don't notice the envelope sticking out of the pocket. But the others do. They say nothing as they watch you leave, and for that, you are grateful. You don't want to hear anything right now. All you want is to go back in time, to change what happened, but you know you can't. Sure, you managed to break up one of the more prominent drug rings that have been plaguing the city, but the cost was too much. You're the only one she's ever had listed as a next of kin, and it will probably fall on you to make the funeral arrangements, but right now, that's the farthest thing from your mind. You don't want to think about her, you don't want to think about a funeral, you don't want to think about the squad. But it's all you _can_ think about.

When the door leading to the precinct rooftop opens, you don't turn around. You know that it's more than likely one of the other members of the squad, come to look for you on the captain's orders. You stare down at the city, at the people moving in every direction, and the cars rushing by. They don't know. And if they did know, it's more than likely that they wouldn't care. The figure that has come up to find you stops a few feet short of you and says something. When you don't answer, he comes closer. You turn, scowling, telling him to go away, but he presses her ring into your hands, and when you look at him, you know that he knows. He leaves without saying anything else, and when you hear the door slam, you're relieved.

The streetlights came on a few hours ago. They're glaring down at you, as if they know what's happened. You know it's ridiculous, but you can't help but think everything around you knows what's happened. And you wonder what will happen come morning. You wonder what people will say. You've always been the loner of the squad. No one has ever managed to get as close to you as she did. You'd been just fine until she'd come along, the only woman in the Narcotics squad, unlucky enough to be partnered off with you. But she'd changed you. She'd gotten you to open up to her, to confide in her. And without that, you're lost. There's no one else you can see yourself talking to her, and as you think this, you can feel yourself withdrawing again, back into that so-called shell you'd been in before she'd come into your life.

The ring is heavy in your hands. She'd told you that she'd put it back on when you all returned, that she didn't want to lose it in whatever crossfire that took place. Didn't want to lose the one thing that meant the most to her. You wonder if you should bury her with it. Wonder if she would have _wanted_ to be buried with it. And then you realize that you have no idea what she would have wanted. You wonder once you realize this whether or not anyone else in the squad knows. And you know you'll have to ask them, whether you like it or not. By now, all of them know will probably know why you're really so upset, and you're surprised to find that you're not annoyed. That you don't care that they know. That you need them to know, because now, more than ever, you're going to need someone to lean on.

You know it'll be strange for them to see you this way when you go back into the squad room. They've rarely ever seen you display emotions. But this is different. This time, you're not going to hide what you're feeling. You're not going to act like it doesn't matter, because it does. And they know it does, because it matters to them too. The sounds of shouting below drift up towards you, and you look down at the sidewalks. And there you see a group of friends. There are eight of them. And suddenly, one of them pulls away, bidding the others farewell. It's ironic, really, and you close your eyes, sucking in a breath and exhaling slowly as you see it. That's pretty much exactly what has just happened to you. The only difference is that you came back to the squad room. She went to the hospital. And neither of you had the chance to say goodbye.

After a while, it becomes too cold to stand outside any longer. The wind has picked up, and when you look up at the sky, you feel the first raindrop on your face. So you tuck her ring into your pocket. You open the door leading back into the precinct. And you walk inside. Dead silence greets you on the stairs. There's no one there. No reporters, none of your fellow detectives. Your footsteps echo loudly as you make your way back to the squad room. Everyone is still there. They look at you for a long moment before turning away. You know why they don't want to look you in the eye. They're scared that you'll break down if they do, and you know that they're depending on you to be the strong one through this, even though you don't want to be. If you lose it, they will too. Your squad has just been torn literally to pieces by this, and you're not sure that you'll be able to bounce back.

In fact, you'll be surprised if none of you request a transfer out in the morning. You're certainly considering it. But then you look at her desk, cluttered with paperwork. You see the picture frames she insists on keeping there, the frameless pictures she has taped to her computer screen. The pens in that coffee mug that has been there ever since she took the place across from you. And you figure that she'd want you to stay. You think then that if you leave, it will be as if she has died for nothing. And that's the last thing you want. But you're scared. As much as you hate to admit it, you're afraid. You know the first thing some people will say is that it's your fault. That you moved on purpose so you wouldn't get shot. You won't be able to defend yourself. You can hardly think about it, much less talk about it. And you know the squad will be the same way. None of them want to think about it. None of them want to talk about it.

The funeral takes place two days after the squad made the bust. You're one of the pallbearers. The casket is closed, because she had no other family, and none of you could bear to see her lying there. None of you even bothered to attend the autopsy. The captain understands why. He stands opposite you, the casket resting on one of his shoulders, and you can tell that he feels the same way you do, if not worse. He knows that none of you could bear to be there, least of all you. Neither of you say anything. Instead, you and the other four make your way down the church steps, and towards the caisson that they have waiting. It's just like any other cop's funeral. They've been through this before. But before, they weren't carrying one of their own. They weren't mourning a member of their squad.

The rumors start soon after, and it's just as you expected. The Narcotics squad is now the target of constant public scrutiny. Playing fast and loose like normal has finally gotten one of you killed, and public wants answers. They want answers that you don't want to give. Answers that you don't want to give. Public relations handles it. They say that it was an accident, and you stare incredulously at the radio in the squad room when you hear it. It wasn't an accident. Your partner was murdered in cold blood, murdered by a man who was dead at the hands of another member of the squad. Internal Affairs had cleared all of you of any wrongdoing. It was self-defense, they said, and moved on. You know it was. But it doesn't change the hole in your heart. It doesn't change what people are saying.

So when you hear someone is leaving Special Victims, you volunteer to transfer in. The other members of the squad are long gone, five months after the funeral. Some of them have gone to different boroughs. Some of them remained in Manhattan, only to go to different units. One of them took a transfer into the renowned Major Case Squad. And you…you're going off to the 16th Precinct, to a unit that everyone looks down on. But you figure it can't be any worse than what you're facing now. You figure that once you leave Narcotics, it will all change. It will all go away.

But it doesn't. And a few months after you transfer into SVU, you finally decide to open up to your new partner. You ask him why he left Homicide, and he gives you some answer about wanting a change from seeing dead bodies all the time. Says that he didn't realize until he got to SVU that it was the living victims that made all the difference. And then he asks you why you left Narcotics. You hesitate for a split second. No one else in the unit knows. But you figure it'll be all right if you tell him….you figure that maybe he won't judge you for it. So you tell him. You left because your partner took a bullet that was meant for you. And he looks at you for a few minutes before reaching for his cell phone as it rings. And the next thing you know, you're back out there, that much closer to closing the case you're on.

When the two of you finally return to the hotel room, the both of you decide to call it a night. When the lights go off, you wait, staring up at the ceiling until you hear the even breathing that means your partner's fallen asleep. And then the thoughts come flooding back. You close your eyes, trying to make it go away. But they won't. They never do. And despite the fact that it's been nearly a year since it happened, you still feel guilty. You still feel, in some ways, that it really was your fault, even though you've been told time and time again that she wouldn't want you to blame yourself. But you can't help it. You should be the one six feet under. Not her. And you know it.

You haven't let yourself go in all this time. Not even at the funeral. You stared straight ahead, a blank look on your face so no one could tell what you were feeling. It was just like normal. The others were the ones to show emotion, while you acted the same way you always do, indifferent, though in reality, you were anything but. You know it's one of the reasons some assumed that you didn't give a damn. You know it's one of the reasons why people talked. But you also know that if you'd allowed yourself to lose control then, you'd have never managed to get yourself back together.

It was supposed to be an innocent question. This partner had no way of knowing how you really felt about what happened. You'd joked about it, to change the subject, saying that her taking the bullet for you kinda took the fun out of everything. But you didn't mean it. It had never been fun. It was always dangerous, always suspenseful. Neither you nor the squad ever knew what was going to happen at any given point and time. That was what had made it so exciting. And then it had all come to an end.

The ring is heavy in your hands again as you take it from your pocket to stare at it in the moonlight streaming in through the window. And as you look at it, you start to slip. Your defenses come down, and you want to look away, but you can't. You've never been able to. And it only makes things worse.

What seems like an eternity goes by before you finally close your fingers around it, grateful for the darkness, for the fact that your partner is sleeping. This is the last thing you want anyone to see, much less talk about. And as you turn on your side to try once more to forget it all, you close your eyes in an almost desperate attempt to stop the tears streaming down your face.


End file.
